A vague misgiving assailed the Phantom as the door closed. The hiding
place chosen for them by the genial Doctor Bimble seemed not quite
adequate to the emergency. There had been no time for argument, however,
and nothing for the Phantom to do but follow instructions. The versatile
anthropologist knew best, he had thought, and very likely the police
would take Bimble's word for it that nobody was concealed in the
laboratory.
The closet was so dark that, but for a faint fragrance and the
occasional scraping of a foot, he might have thought himself alone. From
the other side of the door came subdued sounds, and he pictured the
tubby little doctor protesting against the intrusion on his sacred
privacy. Of Helen he could see nothing but the pallid glint of her face
in the gloom, but her quick, nervous breathing told him that she was
keyed up to a high tension. There was a medley of questions in his mind,
but he found it hard to put them into words.
"Hel--Miss Hardwick," he whispered.
"Yes?".
"Logic is silly rot."
A moment's pause. "I don't believe I understand."
"According to the learned doctor's logic, I am the murderer of Sylvanus
Gage. He made out quite a convincing case, and I could see you were
impressed. Yet, deep down in your heart, you know he was talking piffle.
You don't believe I killed Gage."
She stood silent for a time. He pressed closer to the wall and fumbled
for her hand. It was cold, and the pulsations at the wrist made him
think of a frightened, fluttering bird.
"I wish I could believe you didn't," she murmured, freeing her hand.
"Thank you." Her candor had given him a little thrill of faint and
indefinable hope. "Would it surprise you very much if I told you that my
only reason for leaving Sea-Glimpse was to convince you of my
innocence?"
"Convince _me_?" She gave a low, incredulous laugh. "Why?"
"I'm not sure I can tell you that. From a practical point of view it was
a foolish move, wasn't it? By the way, you knew that the police were
hunting high and low for me. You alone knew where I was to be found, and
yet you didn't tell. I wonder why."
She meditated for a little; then, in a whisper: "I don't know."
He laughed softly. "It seems neither one of us is very practical. We
don't understand our own motives. Can you tell me what you are doing in
this gallery of skeletons?"
"I am not sure, but I will try. The morning after the murder of Gage, I
read the accounts in all the papers. I can't tell you how I felt. It was
as if a great illusion had been shattered. I remember how I cried one
day when I fell and broke my first doll. My feelings after reading the
papers were something like that, only more poignant."
"I understand," he murmured. "You had placed the Gray Phantom on a
pedestal. When he fell and broke to bits, just like common clay, you
were disappointed."
"Yes, it was something like that. I had placed your better self on a
pedestal. I didn't want to believe it had fallen or that it was just
common clay. I read the papers very carefully; hoping to find a weak
point in the evidence against you, but it seemed complete and conclusive
down to the tiniest detail. One of the articles puzzled me a little,
though."
"Oh--the _Sphere's_! Yes, I noticed it, too."
"It read as though the writer were not quite sure that you were the
guilty one. After thinking it over for a while I called up the _Sphere_
and asked for the reporter who had written the article. They had some
little trouble finding him, and when he finally came to the 'phone he
acted as if he were not quite sober. I tried to question him about the
case, but he gruffly told me he had nothing to tell aside from what he
had put into his story. If I had a personal interest in the matter, he
said, the best thing I could do was go and consult Doctor Bimble."
"And you adopted the suggestion?"
"I had never heard of Doctor Bimble, but the reporter told me he was the
cleverest investigator of criminal cases in town. He warned me that
Doctor Bimble might refuse to help me, since he accepted nothing but
cases of unusual interest, but the fact that the murdered man was a
friend and neighbor might make a difference. Yesterday I called on the
doctor, but at first he would talk of nothing but his skeletons. The
murder didn't seem to interest him in the least. He said the Phantom's
guilt was clear and that all that remained was to catch him. Then, when
he saw how earnest I was, he told me about the tunnel."
"The doctor is a queer duck," murmured the Phantom musingly. "The
ordinary man wouldn't take strangers into his confidence about such
things. The eccentricity of genius, I suppose."
"The whole affair seemed to bore him immensely. He told me the man who
killed Gage must have used the tunnel, since he could not have left the
room any other way. He thought it possible the murderer was still hiding
there, lying low until the excitement should die down, and if I didn't
have anything better to do I might watch for him at this end. As for
himself, he said he wasn't at all concerned in the apprehension and
punishment of criminals, but he gave me his revolver and told me I might
watch the door leading from the laboratory, since the murderer, if he
were still in the tunnel, had to come out that way. I think my interest
in the case amused the doctor. I suspected he was chuckling at me most
of the time.
"I watched the door till late last night, all the time hoping that, if
anyone came out of the tunnel, it would not be you. Shortly before
midnight I persuaded the doctor to let his man take my place. You see,
if the murderer proved to be anyone but you, I wanted him caught,
because then your innocence would be established. Early this morning I
went back to my post. When I heard steps on the stairs my heart stood
still for a moment. As the door opened I felt like shrieking. And
then----"
She broke off with a gasp. From above came the sounds of footsteps and
doors slamming, indicating that the police were searching the upper part
of the house.
"And when you saw me," the Phantom put in, "you immediately jumped to
the conclusion that I was guilty. Well, I suppose it was good logic.
What can I do or say to convince you that I didn't kill Gage?"
"Nothing," she said, a hysterical catch in her throat. Of a sudden she
seemed cold and distant, as if realizing that in telling her story she
had betrayed too much of her feelings. "I fear there is nothing more to
be said."
The Phantom drew a deep breath. "I don't blame you," he said gently.
"There are several black chapters in my past. But some day I'll prove to
you that I had nothing to do with this murder. I admit that just now the
evidence weighs heavily against me. It is true there was something of a
feud between me and Gage once upon a time and----"
"And the threatening letter," she interrupted. "Why did you send it if
you didn't mean to kill him?"
"It was a forgery. I never wrote it."
"Handwriting experts say you did."
"I know." He remembered having read in the newspapers that three experts
had compared the letter with samples of his handwriting on file in the
bureau of criminal identification, and that two of them had declared
that the Phantom had written it. "That only goes to show that it was an
exceptionally clever forgery, and experts have been known to differ
before."
"But Gage told the officer that it was you who stabbed him." She spoke
as if determined to hear his explanation of the damning bits of evidence
even though every word hurt her.
"True enough. But Gage didn't see me. He had the threatening letter in
mind when he said that."
"Nothing but the Maltese cross was missing, and you had had a quarrel
with Gage about that."
"True, too." The Phantom chuckled bitterly. "If I had committed the
murder I should have taken pains to carry away a lot of other things for
a blind." She was silent for a few moments. Footsteps were coming down
the stairs, and the Phantom knew that the searchers would soon be in the
laboratory. Again he found her hand, but she quickly drew it away.
"You knew about the tunnel," she reminded him, her shaky accents
betraying the struggle going on within her.
"I swear that I found it by accident."
He could not see her face, but he sensed that she doubted him and that
the remnant of faith in her heart was unable to withstand the corroding
effect of a growing suspicion. The footsteps were drawing closer, and
now they could hear voices outside the door. He recognized the rasping
accents of Doctor Bimble.
"I tell you, my dear sir, that the closet contains nothing but chemicals
which I use in my laboratory work. Some of them are very valuable.
That's why I keep them under lock and key."
Tensing every muscle as if preparing for an attack, the Phantom stepped
in front of the girl. She made no protest as he took her pistol, which
she had been holding all the time and which now hung limply from her
fingers.
"I don't doubt your word," answered a gruff voice outside, "but orders
are to search everywhere and make a good job of it. Hate to trouble you,
but it's got to be done."
The doctor, evidently sparring for time, insisted that he had been in
his laboratory all day and that nobody could have slipped into the
closet unnoticed by him; but the other was obdurate.
"Very well, then," finally grumbled the anthropologist, "but I shall
make complaint to Inspector Wadham. Jerome, where are my keys?" Despite
the suspense under which he was laboring, the Phantom grinned. He
strongly suspected that Bimble was working a ruse in order to gain time.
Yet he wondered what the outcome was to be, for unless the keys were
promptly produced the officers would undoubtedly force the door.
His next sensation was one of astonishment. A curious calm appeared to
have fallen over the group outside, for moment after moment passed
without a word being spoken. The Phantom wondered what it could mean. It
seemed as though the speakers had been suddenly stricken dumb. After
what seemed a long period of silence, somebody uttered an exclamation of
astonishment, then a laugh sounded, and next footsteps moved away from
the closet door. A minute or so passed, then someone fumbled with the
lock, and presently the door was opened by Doctor Bimble. He was smiling
blandly, but the Phantom thought he detected an uneasy gleam behind the
spectacles.
"What's happened?" he inquired, looking about him dazedly and noticing
that the girl and himself were alone with the doctor.
The anthropologist waved a hand toward the front of the house. "Listen!"
From the streets came loud and raucous shouts, and a blank look crossed
the Phantom's face as he made out the words:
"Uxtra! Gray Phantom capchured! All 'bout the big pinch! Uxtra!"